


A Song of Witchcraft and Wizardry

by JonStark (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/JonStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The younger generation of ASOIAF attend Hogwarts and if you thought their lives were fucked up in Westeros, throw in a bit of magic and modern teenage issues and see it worsen for the better. Sex, drugs, violence, love, friendship and a bit of murder. Welcome to Hogwarts.</p><p>Ages have been altered, more characters and relationships to be added to avoid spoilers. Layout as in ASOIAF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa I

_**Sansa** _

She was chasing the dream, forlorn across the grass. It was never ending: she seemed to be chasing after a contentedness in life she would never quite reach and she would be trapped in the infinite labyrinth of inevitable doom. In her dreams there was an escape. In reality, despite what choices she made, what corners she turned, she would reach a dead end and be forced back into the shell of self loathing and pity. It was all inevitable.

Her mother woke her at seven o’clock. They would drive to King’s Cross soon.

The face she saw in her reflection was not one of her own, but of the beautiful silhouette of an innocent girl new and true to the world.

Sansa hid behind the beauty of words for the plain and simple fact that if she did not, she would likely go insane.

The face in her mirror _was_ her own, and she was groggy and tired and not wanting to return to school after eight weeks of peaceful summer. She went shopping with her friends, spent time with her family, went swimming in the local pool and went on a few dates with normal boys in the neighbourhood. Normal. What even was normal anymore? Sansa was not normal, for fucks sake she was a Witch. Those boys were Muggles: the son of a builder and a teacher and a firefighter, all aspired to go to University or be an apprentice to a labourer. If Sansa was a Muggle, she would wish to be a teacher or a writer. She had always been good with words even if words were not good to her.

Sansa ran a hot shower, enjoyed the pain that the jets of boiling water presented her with as they rolled down her naked figure. Lathering her hair with coconut shampoo, smothering her body in a matching scent body wash, she reflected that this was the last normal thing she would do for almost a year: take a shower with Muggle body bath. In twenty-four hours, she would be using _Pot & Bubbles_ or _Lacewing Shampoo_ , but for now Sansa ravished in the beauty of _Soap & Glory_ and _Garnier_ and _L'oreal_ products. The magic could wait for another day…

A sixteen-year-old Sansa brushed through her thick, auburn hair, rolled deodorant onto her armpits and struggled into her blue, floral dress Margaery had chosen for her in a Muggle store down the high street Sansa would forget the name of in a week’s time then she would be shopping in _Marie’s Emporium for Young Witches_ or _Spell Robes_ or something like that. All she brought in Wizarding clothe stores were robes and boots, and there were only so many colour robes a girl could own before she owned every single colour in existence. Between her and Margaery Tyrell they already did.

Sansa was one child of six and not one of them shared a room which was clear evidence of her family’s wealth, but also that all of them would be going to Hogwarts in brand new robes, books and equipment for the new term. Sansa was grateful she did not have to share her sister’s clothes or her brother’s tatted old books. None of them had any regard for their possessions. Robb could have saved the family a lot of money if he did not burn every book at the end of each year and bat his eyelids at Mum, kiss her on the cheek and promise not to do it again. Robb was in his Seventh Year and Sansa in her Sixth and she had not yet received an old book from Robb.

“Mum’s crying,” Robb announced in a bored tone when Sansa left her bedroom. “Now that Rickon’s leaving too… What does she expect? He’s eleven. It’s time for him to go to Hogwarts now.”

Sansa agreed with Robb but she did not like to see her mother upset. “And Dad?”

Her eldest brother shrugged. He lounged back casually on the bannister of the stairs. Sansa and Robb were separated by eleven months in age and less than a metre between the wall between their rooms. Their wall was not very solid, nor was it very soundproof and when Robb brought girlfriend’s home that was never a good thing.

“Dad’s reading his paper and talking to Robert on the phone. Joffrey got into trouble with the Police last night, he hexed a couple of boys who he thought were looking at Myrcella. Really they were looking at Myrcella and Joffrey’s robes and why they were dressed so oddly. _Stupid prick_ …”

Sansa agreed with Robb, but was too terrified to counter him. “He was protecting his sister.”

“From a couple of eleven-year-olds. He’s a dick, Sansa, why do you-”

“-Don’t Robb,” Sansa warned. “Not today.”

Robb rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bannister, running a hand through his curled auburn hair. They had the same hair, Sansa and Robb did, and shared it with their brother Rickon. Sansa suited her hair, she liked her hair and accepted it when people called her a ginger. Robb on the other hand was known to slip hexes to people who called him ginger. _Hypocrite_ , Sansa thought, _just because they were Muggles_. But Sansa knew Joff and Robb were two very different people but did not know why she insisted on defending him…

Her family was large, as could be told by the size of their home. They lived in Kensington - everyone lived in Kensington or East London: Margaery, Joffrey, other friends of her Mum and Dad but in term time, they lived in Hogwarts. Only the children though. Only the children now. All children now, Sansa reflected, what with Rickon starting his first year this year. Robb told him if he was put into Slytherin they’d disinherit him, but the family would bet their lives the youngest Stark child would be in Gryffindor with the eldest and Arya. The Stark’s were always in Gryffindor; her father had been in Gryffindor with his brothers and sister, and their mother and father and their mother and father. So many generations had been in Gryffindor that when Sansa was sorted into Ravenclaw six years ago she sobbed through the night, frightened that the family truly would disinherit her, but Robb had found her the following morning and laughed about it.

_“Jon’s in Slytherin,” Robb reminded. “And if they didn’t disinherit him for that then…”_

_But Sansa felt guilty for weeping the following morning after speaking to Robb. She’d turned the corner and found Myrcella crying on the window sil._

_“Gryffindor,” Myrcella sniffed. “Sansa, Mum will kill me!”_

_“Your Dad was in Gryffindor,” Sansa reminded._

_“But every Lannister has been in Slytherin, Sansa… Mum expects it of me.”_

_“But you’re not a Lannister; you’re a Baratheon.”_

_“Joff hates me.”_

_“Joff hates everyone.”_

_The golden haired Baratheon child smiled up at Sansa sweetly, sniffing as prettily as she was herself. “Joff’s already told her.”_

_“Your Mum loves you, Cella. She won’t be mad.”_

Sansa remembered when Myrcella received her first letter from her Mum, and she remembered the tears of joy she wept upon discovering that her Mum didn’t hate her. Apparently her Grandfather was pissed, but Tywin Lannister was always angry at something. Then Tommen was sorted into Hufflepuff who cared less about his House than his sister and Tywin Lannister actually marched into Hogwarts, demanding that Tommen be resorted.

_“An outrage!” He stormed. “Do you not know who my son-in-law is? Who that boy’s father is?”_

Robert Baratheon was called into Hogwarts, as Joffrey and Myrcella were called into the Headmaster’s Office. Tommen was forced to retake the sorting test, and the hat barely had to sit on his head for a minute before declaring him a Hufflepuff again. Tommen loved retelling that story. Tywin Lannister did not.

When Bran joined Sansa in Ravenclaw, she was delighted. She was not delighted, however, that he would befriend the two ‘loners’ as her friends called them: Jojen and Meera Reed from Ravenclaw House, both many years older than Bran. Sansa feared they would be a bad influence on him, but they seemed to generally like Bran and took him for tea with the Gameskeeper Hodor. Bran couldn’t walk. He had an accident when he was nine and they all feared he wouldn’t be accepted into Hogwarts on accounts of it. He was, delightfully, and he was one of the brightest Wizards of his age.

They were all sat round the Breakfast table, Sansa returning Robb to the family. Dad sat at the Head of the table and Mum sat on the other side. A buffet of pancakes, waffles, sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms and other breakfast foods were presented on the table. Sansa was helping herself to a croissant and orange juice when Arya shot the first insult of the day.

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa! Why can’t you be more like Sansa!”

“Arya, these are your O.W.Ls. You’ve got to put some effort into school this year. That means you have to study hard and attend lessons and try your hardest in every class, stop receiving detentions and stop skiving!”

“ _D-a-d,_ ” Arya complained. “Nobody’s perfect. Not even _Sansa_. She only got an A on Potions.”

“Only,” Sansa echoed. “I passed them all.”

Arya snorted. “Robb only passed three - I don’t hear you having a go at him about his N.E.W.Ts this year!”

“Because Robb’s a lost cause,” interrupted Jon.

“Nobody’s having a go at you, Arya,” Mum added. “And we are not ‘having a go at you’ we’re only telling you this because we care and we want you to do well. We don’t want you dropping out like some people and living off us for the rest of your life.”

“So why aren’t you drilling this into Robb and Jon?”

“Because we know Jon is going to pass all his N.E.W.Ts with O’s,” said Dad, “and Robb… Robb will try his hardest.”

“And that’s all we can ask from you,” Mum quipped. “Is for you to try your hardest.”

Sansa loved her family. When she was younger she would have been too embarrassed to admit it, but she really truly did. It was no secret that Mum disliked Jon. Mum said it was because it reminded her of Dad going away so much, but Sansa knew it was because of what Dad did while he was away. Sansa liked Jon; she liked the reassurance he gave her when she was sorted into Ravenclaw and ensured her that no one would be mad with her. In fact, she loved Jon for it. She loved his kindness hidden behind his sultry, broodish alter ego: the boy who smoked between classes by the greenhouses and hanged round with his little group of friends who drank too much, swore to much and lusted after women too much. Jon said they made an unbreakable vow when they were thirteen when they were drunk and stupid and they wouldn’t have sex until they had finished Hogwarts. Sansa never believed him until even his friends admitted it to her. Jon had a girlfriend though, the Muggleborn, red haired, wild Gryffindor called Ygritte that everybody knew but nobody had ever spoken to. Sansa wondered why Ygritte stuck with him so long if he couldn’t have sex; she didn’t seem the girl who would wait until marriage. She was too much like Arya, and Sansa knew that Arya was no innocent, pristine little girl that she should be.

Mum and Dad never approved of anything that Arya did, which only made her want to do it more. This included Gendry: one of the boys who took the unbreakable vow in third year. Sansa knew that Gendry only said this to Robb and Jon to stop them from tailing Arya around school or home whenever they were together. Sansa learned otherwise when Arya ran to her, worried that she might be pregnant at the beginning of summer.

_“We were so careful!” Arya wept. “He’ll hate me! Sansa I’m scared! Help me!”_

_“Have you told Mum?”_

_“I can’t tell Mum about this! She’ll go crazy,” Arya hissed. “Please Sansa, don’t tell her. Promise me you won’t tell her. Promise me Sansa.”_

_“I promise you.”_

She wasn’t pregnant, but only late. Arya had always been brash and impatient.

_“Promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”_

_“We will.”_

_“Arya! Promise me.”_

_“I promise you.”_

Arya’s strength was an inspiration to Sansa, as was her relationship. Gendry and Arya truly loved each other, or loved each other as much as two rule-breaking sociopaths could love someone. It was a relationship Sansa was jealous though, because she knew that Joffrey would never treat her with the same respect Gendry had for Arya, or kiss her as sweetly as Robb kissed Jeyne, or share laughter like Jon and Ygritte. No one knew why Sansa stuck around with Joffrey for so long, there were even times Sansa didn’t know why she stayed with him. She avoided him when possible and refrained from sex with him for the past two years. Sansa worried for the day Robb and Jon would leave Hogwarts and there would be no one left to protect her. _How can I expect anyone to protect me when I cannot even protect myself?_

Joffrey was like a thunderstorm: a destructive being with too much power and ability to cause harm. Sansa was the sun: bright and shining and pleasant to look at, but overpowered by thunderstorms, her power diminishing whenever one boiled up close enough. He made her want to rip out her hair, but as Joffrey pointed out on several occasions:

_“Who else would have you?”_

_Sansa was taken aback. “Excuse me?”_

_“If you break up with me then you’re nothing. Nothing do you hear me: nothing. Everyone will hate you for breaking my heart - or at least that’s what I’ll tell them. They’ll make your life at Hogwarts hell if I demand them. Do you know who my father is? My father is your father’s boss, and your mother and uncle and everybody you know. I could ruin their lives with the click of my finger and a wave of my wand. Now,” Joffrey stroked Sansa’s cheek. “Do you really want to break up with me?”_

_“N-No.”_

_“No,” Joffrey confirmed, kissing her nose. “No you don’t.”_

She was embarrassed with how she was around him. She was embarrassed with who she was around him. What was Sansa truly without Joffrey?

Nothing.

She was nothing without him.

Just thinking about that made her stomach churn, and she rest down the remainder of her croissant, sipped her juice through pursed lips and listened to Rickon and Arya squabble across the table, Jon and his witty remarks, Robb always saying the worst things at the worst time to encourage the argument, Bran laughing with them at the same time, Mum trying to calm them down and Dad shouting for them to make sure they’ve packed everything. By this time it was nearing nine o’clock. The train would leave at eleven and they would leave the house at quarter to ten. Dad wanted to drive them; it was a family ritual; they would all take Muggle transport to go to a Wizarding school. He said it was beautifully metaphorical.

“I think that’s gay.”

“Robb!” Arya shouted. “You can’t say that!”

“I was only kidding. Calm down, Arya!”

“She’s right,” Jon teased. “You can’t say that.”

“You shouldn’t say that; it’s homophobic,” Sansa added.

“And immoral.”

“And mean.”

“Shut the fuck up Rickon or I’ll set the Sorting Hat on fire when you’re wearing it or curse it to make you be a Slytherin.”

“ _Robb_!”

“Slytherin’s not that bad,” Jon sighed. “It’s just the people…”

Everyone’s eyes flashed to Sansa, who like always, pretended not to notice. “Margaery’s in Slytherin and so is Dany.”

“See Rickon! If you get sorted into Slytherin you’ll be sharing a House with some hot girls.”

“ _Robb_!”

“Daenerys is pretty hot,” Jon agreed. “I’m not gonna lie.”

“Jon you have a girlfriend.”

“Ygritte thinks she’s hot as well.”

“ _Jon_ …”

“That’s kinda hot,” Robb said, “offer to take her up on that offer.”

“Happily.”

“ _BOYS_!!

“Ew! Jon that’s disgusting!” Arya cringed, throwing her crust at Jon, hitting him on the cheek. The children began laughing, but were interrupted by their mother, who pulled Arya’s chair back and ordered her to leave the table at once. Arya and Mum argued as they so often did and it saddened Sansa when she realised it would be the last time she would sit around a table with her family until Christmas. Don’t think about that now. _Enjoy the time you’re spending together._

 

They all piled into their Dad’s matte black Mercedes, magically modified to fit all eight of them in comfortably, all of their trunks and their respective pets: two owls and four cats. Normally there were nine of them; their Dad’s Godson lived with them while his own father was in jail. Ensuring that Theon would meet them at King’s Cross with his sister, Dad put the car in reverse and drove down the drive, unlocked the gate and set out to the station.

It took them an hour to reach the station, arriving behind schedule and struggling to find a place to park which resulted in their Dad swearing at every Muggle and their cars until he confunded a driver to move his car so they could have one at the front.

“Ned! You can’t do that!”

“We’ll miss the train otherwise Mum,” Rickon reminded. “And you don’t want us for another year, do you?”

Their Mum grumbled something as she unbuckled her seatbelt and the children followed suit. As Mum helped Bran into his wheelchair, Robb, Jon and Dad pulled the trunks and pets out of the car while Arya and Rickon raced for six trolleys for them all. Sansa swore they used magic when both of them returned within a minute pushing three trolleys each as if they were as light as leaves. Both were smirking, but Dad only thanked them.

“Hurry up now or else you’ll be late,” Mum said with a smile. She placed a hand round Rickon’s shoulder as they pushed their trolleys through the car park. “Promise me you’ll write.”

“I will write,” Rickon promised.

“We all will,” Robb added.

“You never write,” Dad pointed out. “You went four months without writing. We relied on Sansa to tell us everything that was happening with you. We gave up after the second month.”

Robb smiled sweetly. “And you say you don’t have a favourite.”

“Sometimes Robb, you make me doubt my own honours.”

Robb’s owl Grey Wind had been returned to him with a letter from Jeyne, but he wouldn’t tell anybody what was in the letter, only that it had stunned him into silence when he read it. Arya hinted that Jeyne had broken up with him, and with all the shit he’d put her through the past seven months, Sansa was glad to hear it.

The Stark’s received odd looks from Muggles as they passed by, but it was nothing they hadn’t received before. It wasn’t often six children pushed trolleys with cats and owls on them, talking about Butterbeer and Quidditch. Sansa cared for neither; Butterbeer was fattening and too sweet and Quidditch bored her. Robb played Quidditch for Gryffindor and Joffrey played it for Slytherin. She had enough Quidditch matches to attend to to last a lifetime.

“Will you put me on the team now that you’re captain, Robb?” rickon asked.

“Not if you’re crap.”

“First years can’t play Quidditch, stupid,” Arya jipped. “And who wants to play anyway? It’s too generic.”

“Fancy word,” Jon yawned. “But I agree; Quidditch is for popular people like Robb and that other guy who plays for Ravenclaw.”

“Your girlfriend was on the Quidditch team, mate,” Robb said, “and she was bloody good. Tell her if she wants to join the team she can do; we need a new Seeker now that Tyrell’s left and she was a good seeker.”

Jon and Robb discussed Quidditch while Mum and Dad begged Rickon and Bran to write to them more often while at school. Sansa and Arya hung back from the family and as much as Sansa hated her little sister at times, she wouldn’t ignore her when she came to her seeking help.

“But I kissed him!” Arya hissed. “I fucking kissed him!”

“He kissed you,” Sansa reminded. “And you were drunk.”

Arya bowed her head. “I feel awful.”

“You just found out you weren’t pregnant - you were filled with emotion!” Sansa reasoned. “Are you going to tell Gendry?”

“Gendry’ll kill him. Are you sure Joffrey won’t tell him?”

Sansa chewed her lip. “I hope not.”

_Music blasted from the stereophone playing a mixture of Muggle and Wizarding music. Love Potion played constantly: a group of four boys nearly every Witch obsessed over, Sansa herself had a small poster of them in her dormitory at Hogwarts. Their music wasn’t fantastic but like most popular bands and artists, they were good looking and had charisma and unfortunately, that was honoured more than actual talent. But amongst the sound of the music and the laughter and the chatter of the guests who celebrated Myrcella Baratheon’s sixteenth birthday was the sound of kissing from the youngest Baratheon’s room upstairs but the sound of the conversation that followed was worse._

_“Sansa!” Came the drunken slurs of Joffrey Baratheon. “Sansa, my darling, Sansa come here.”_

_He staggered with a can of beer in his hand to Sansa who faked a smile when he approached her. “Yes Joff?”_

_“Your sister was snogging my brother. Don’t she have a boyfriend… that tall, big kid with the brown hair?”_

_“Yes Joff,” Sansa echoed in a less cheerful tone._

_“Are they happy together?” Sansa nodded. “What a pity if someone were to tell Gendry what his girlfriend’s been up to,” Joffrey grasped Sansa’s wrist, gripping it tightly. “Wouldn’t it?”_

_“It would,” she whispered._

_“You don’t want me to tell him, would you? Because if I tell him, it would be a lot worse than what it actually was.”_

_She took a sharp inhale of breath. “Please let go of me.”_

_“We can go upstairs and talk about this… In my room… No one should disturb us.”_

Sansa was certain that Joffrey wouldn’t tell Gendry that Arya had drunkenly allowed little Tommen to kiss her at a party. She had gone to extreme lengths to ensure that he would not. Sansa wouldn’t admit what she did to Sansa; saying it outloud was too wicked and vile for words. She knew she could not bring herself to do it again out of choice, but if Joffrey blackmailed her… Like always she never had a choice.

“How did you get him to keep quiet?” Arya whispered. “Sansa, everything I’ve told you. You know you can tell me anything.”

Can I though? Would you still look at me the same? “I just wish you never do it with Gendry.”

“If he raped you-”

“-I let him, Arya!”

“Just because you said yes, doesn’t mean it wasn’t rape! You didn’t want to do it, but he forced and manipulated you into doing it anyway! The only reason I don’t tell Mum and Dad is because I know it will only make it worse for you. If you want me to do anything to him, hex him behind class or make his dick smaller or diseased, you know I would do it for you.”

Sansa attempted a joke. “He’d have no dick left if you made it smaller.”

The youngest Stark daughter managed a smile and leaned across the trolley and gently touched Sansa’s wrists. She still had bruises on her wrists from that night. Arya did not know that.

Their family waited for the girl’s to cross the barrier together. Mum went first, wheeling Bran through absentmindedly, followed by a charging Rickon who screamed out a battle cry as he charged head first into the barrier. Robb and Jon nonchalantly wandered through, then Arya and Sansa followed by their Dad.

Platform 9 ¾ was a beautifully magical place. The scarlet steam trained pumped silvery wisps of smoke from the engine as it readied itself for the journey up north. Sansa fumbled in her coat pocket and pinned the badge that read P for Prefect in golden letters on a scarlet background onto her coat almost subconsciously, taking in her surroundings as she followed her family through the platform, dodging the students saying goodbye to their weeping mothers and father’s trying to stay strong for their wives. Sansa took them all in: the aesthetic that it all possessed: the innocence of all these young minds going to provide for the next generation. There was a beauty in it all, an aura mixed with the smell of smoke and hot breath and coffee and food and fur off cats. What a time to be alive…

“Now you stay wonderful,” Mum said, taking Sansa by the shoulders. “I love you.”

Mum kissed her on the cheek, wrapping her in a warm embrace. She’d miss her Mum: how she’d wake early to make them all breakfast on a Sunday, the smell she’d leave behind in the bathroom on a Friday night after a detox, the cooking all done by hand, the pink lipstick stains on the side of their cheeks and her signature Estee Lauder perfume.

“I love you too Mum.”

“Look after Bran,” then after a pause, “and Rickon and Arya too.”

“I will Mum.”

“Oh! And Aunt Lysa wants you all to make sure no one bullies her Robert. After your Uncle Jon dies she’s become very wary that something might happen to him - especially now that he’s going to Hogwarts.”

“We’ll look after him Mum,” Robb said, “now are you going to hug your favourite son or not?”

They were ushered onto the train by the sound of the conductor blowing his whistle and Mum made sure not one of them would be left behind. Craning out of the window as the train pulled out of the station, they waved furiously to their weeping mother and their father who held a protective arm around his wife’s shoulder but once they were gone and travelling through the streets of London, the Stark children separated. Robb and Jon headed towards the back of the carriage to meet Theon and some of the others, Bran was adopted into a compartment by Jojen and Meera Reed, and Sansa later left Arya and Rickon wandering for a compartment when she came across her friends.

Only two were present when Sansa entered the compartment and they were the two that she spent most time with throughout the summer: the ones who lived within walking distance to Sansa. The first to catch her eye was Myrcella Baratheon whom was the youngest of her friends in Sixth Year. She was in Gryffindor, Joffrey’s younger sister by one year and looked every bit like Joffrey difference being only that Myrcella’s hair was long where Joffrey’s was cut short and her features were softer and kinder compared to her brother’s. Her green eyes were sweet and comforting while Joffrey’s were hypnotic and destructive. The second was Margaery Tyrell who Sansa would consider to be her best friend. Margaery was oldest, September 1st being her birthday making her already seventeen and of age - legally an adult. They celebrated Margaery’s birthday two nights ago so they would not be hungover for the train ride, but despite that, Margaery had still got drunk the night before with her brothers and cousins. It was Margaery who looked most delighted to see her: beaming, showing off her perfectly white, shaped teeth which stood against her newly tanned skin from travelling in Africa, building homes for the less fortunate. Her beauty was on peak the weeks after summer, so much so that if you were to glance her passingly you would not forget her face. Margaery knew it too and she smiled at Sansa as if there was nobody else she so desired to see.

“Tell Margaery she’s being ridiculous,” Myrcella sighed. “She’s promised Swann she’ll go to Hogsmeade with him next Saturday.”

No small talk then. “There is no Hogsmeade trip next Saturday.”

“Like that’s stopped her in the past.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, sitting beside Myrcella Baratheon. “Don’t go out with Swann, Marge; he’s an idiot.”

“ _Thank you_!” Myrcella breathed. “Marge has shit taste in boys. So do you, Sansa.”

Sansa dared not openly disagree with her. Myrcella was the only person brave enough to confront Joffrey. Nothing daunted her.

“Says you. Didn’t you go on a date with your _cousin_?”

“I didn’t know he was my cousin. And technically, Willem is my second-cousin once removed and I’d never met him. He’s cute though.”

“Your Mum went mental when you told her though,” Margaery laughed.

“Obviously,” Myrcella sighed. “He’s family. You can’t date family.”

“So is that why you broke up with him?”

Hesitantly: “Absolutely.”

“So it had nothing to do with the fact that he has a-”

But what Willem Frey had, Sansa would never learn for they were interrupted by the fourth person to join their carriage. She was the most controversial of them all, Robert Baratheon was furious at Myrcella upon learning about their friendship. She was never allowed round the Baratheon home and even Sansa’s Dad had been hesitant about allowing her round. Daenerys couldn’t be blamed for her family’s acts. That was all unfair.

“Hello,” Dany said.

“Hey Dany,” Margaery said softly. “Tell Cella it’s wrong to date your cousin.”

“What can I say?” Dany muttered. “My parents were siblings.”

An awkward pause filled the carriage when Daenerys Targaryen sat with the girls. There always seemed to be an aura about Daenerys that hinted that she would rather be anywhere else but with them. Dany did not have much choice in friendship though; most people at Hogwarts had family who fought the war against Daenerys’ family, and recently her own brother had been a worry to the Wizarding World and there were even rumours that Daenerys was conspiring with Wizards from Khal Academy to retake power in the Wizarding World. The only reason that Dany really was friends with Sansa and Myrcella and Shireen who was not present in the compartment, was that Margaery’s family had supported Daenerys’ in the great war and they had always stayed in contact. Margaery had begged Myrcella and Sansa to befriend the silver haired girl and with reluctance, they accepted. Even after six years Daenerys held tension against Sansa and Myrcella and Shireen. Sansa hoped it was all in her imagination.

“Did you enjoy Spain, Dany?” Myrcella asked. “With your cousins?”

“Yes, thank you. Spain was lovely.”

“I’ve never been to Spain before. What’s it like?”

“Hot,” Dany offered. “We went to Russia as well?”

“Russia? You never said you went back to Russia.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing. Oberyn thought it would be a good idea.”

“Did you go to Khal Academy?”

“I did actually,” she said as if there was nothing to the rumour. “And I met one of the guys there. His name is Drogo-”

“-And what’s his first name?”  
“Drogo. His name is just Drogo.”

She was so abrupt it seemed more than him being just Drogo to her. Sansa hoped she was being careful in her decisions to date this foreign boy. Daenery was beautiful, but her life was not. She danced in the shadows of death and sang songs of the beauty of murder.

But everyone was mortal.


	2. Jon I

**_Jon_ **

 By the time Jon was five he knew he was not welcome in the Stark family simply for the reason he was not a Stark. Catelyn called him a bastard and said that his mother was a slut. That had been when Jon was thirteen and snuck down in the middle of the night for a glass of water where he found a drunken Catelyn on the phone to her sister.

_“The bastard’s here,” Catelyn snarled. “I don’t know who his mother was Lysa! Ned won’t tell me… Of course he doesn’t still see her… Some stupid schoolgirl I suppose… A slut… If Sansa ever did something like that…”_

Her words would haunt Jon until he found out who his true mother was but Jon resided himself to the fact that the only man alive who knew who his mother was, was his father and despite the many attempts to discover the truth, Ned Stark would not tell his bastard son the truth of his matronage.

_“I’ll run away. I swear I’ll run away and never come back.”_

_Ned smiled softly. “She said the same to me.”_

_“Did she want me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Did she love me?”_

_“Quite so.”_

_“Did she love you?”_

_“Yes.”_

But when Jon turned sixteen he decided that if his mother couldn’t be fucked to find him, then Jon wouldn’t give a piss about her. At least that was what he told Dad and Ygritte. Inside, he wanted nothing more than to find his Mum and ask her why she gave him away. He did not fear what the answer would be as Dad warned that he would, instead it would give him closure after all these years and maybe, just maybe, Catelyn might bear to share a home with him.

“Don’t come home at Christmas,” she warned him at the station, her burgundy coat buttoned to her chin. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I won’t,” Jon answered. “I’ll stay with Ygritte.”

“I really don’t care _where_ you go bastard.”

Before those words might have stung him, they might even have upset him, but seventeen years on in the life of Jon Snow: Ned Stark’s bastard, and it was just one insult of many. Even if Catelyn didn’t love him, Jon, Arya and Bran and the others all did. Even Sansa, though she might deny it to the grave.

He stepped on the train with his brothers and sisters and waved goodbye to their Dad as Catelyn weeped for her children. Jon wondered if his own Mum was stood on the Platform waving to her children, or if she even knew magic existed. Jon hoped she was out there and she was happy and maybe she had a few more children of her own and didn’t want to intrude on Jon’s settled life and that was why she never thought to seek him out. Or she missed him terribly and just couldn’t find him. He would like for her still to remember him.

“Let’s go find Theon,” Robb offered with a clap on the shoulder. “Well this is it… Last year at Hogwarts. Hope you’re ready.”

Jon smiled at his half-brother. “Ready for Manderly to drill into you that you have to buckle down and study and choose what you want to do for the rest of your life?”

“I know what I want to be; I want to be an Auror like Dad.”

“I haven’t thought much about it.”

“You should,” said Robb coolly, “we leave Hogwarts in ten months and if you don’t know what you want to be and do with the rest of your life by then.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life drinking with you, going out with my friends and coming home to a warm bed with Ygritte in. Maybe we’ll have a few children… Maybe not…”

“Aren’t you going to get a job?”

Jon shrugged. “Yeah… Probably…”

How was a seventeen-year-old supposed to know what he wanted to do with his life? He had struggle deciding how he wanted to spend his day, if he wanted to go out with Ygritte or Robb or stay at home in bed and read or watch videos or whether or not he wanted gravy on his beef at dinner or on the side so he could dip it in later if it was too tough. Jon didn’t like the idea that a seventeen-year-old adolescent should have to depict the rest of his life for him. Was it only Jon who saw the corruption of it all?

“If you want kids with Ygritte, without a job how will you afford it? Dad won’t just _give_ you money, you know. You’re going to have to earn it.”

“Earn my keep you mean,” remarked Jon sourly. “Just because I’m not your true brother means that I need to make myself worth to live with you? Is that what you mean?”

“No, Jon, that’s not what I mean!”

“Fuck you,” Jon snapped. “And your Mum. Fuck you all.”

“Jon you know I didn’t mean it like that - don’t walk off!”

He’d barged past Robb, storming through the train, cursing his elder half-brother under his breath as his fingers twitched at his sides and his breathing short and quick. Jon wanted to hate Robb for being the perfect son; Catelyn loved him so dearly and hated Jon terribly. Everybody loved Robb. All the girls loved Robb, his parents, their family and friends, Professors but most specifically the girls. Robb got them all.

They’d talk to handsome, dark and brooding Jon first but soon their admirations would turn to the handsome and charming older brother who could swoon any girl with his eyes closed and hands behind his back. Jon detested that. He was fortunate that Robb had once punched Ygritte at a party when they were in second year and she’d held a grudge against him for it ever since. She hadn’t been swooned by Robb and she still disliked him. She called him arrogant and prissy and best of all, she told Jon she thought Robb ‘wasn’t even _that_ good looking.’ He loved Ygritte. He’d kill anyone who got between them.

After a small amount of searching, he found her in her own compartment on the train, nearing the back where the Slytherin’s sat. Joffrey and his friends would be in there and eventually Jon would catch sight of his half-sister’s red hair float past on her way to see him. For now, the only red hair he concentrated on was that shorter on his girlfriend who stared at him complexely as he slid open the door.

“Do you think anyone’s ever fucked on the Hogwarts Express before?”

He blinked at her, laughing slightly. “What?”

“You know nothing Jon Snow: do you think anyone’s ever fucked on the train before?”

“Probably.”

“Oh. I was hoping we’d be first.”

With a typical teasing smile forming on her thin lips, she pulled forward on the collar of Jon’s shirt to her lips. She tasted like cigarettes and bitch. He loved her.

“I missed you,” Ygritte breathed passionately. “Let’s fuck.”

“Where?” Jon asked.

Demanding: “Toilets.”

He was hesitant; it wasn’t the most hygienic place they;d screwed, but it wasn’t the worst...

“I had a fight with Robb.”

“Tell me after,” she stretched back like a cat, taking his hand. “I want you.”

The small cubicles of the Hogwarts Express were designed to fit one person taking a shit or a piss. They were not made to hold two hormonal seventeen-year-olds going at it hard and loudly against the sink. Loudly didn’t matter so much; Ygritte had cast a silencing charm around the door. Hard on the other hand… Jon was exhausted after just a few minutes but Ygritte was adamant on making up for their six weeks of separation. Ygritte saw it more as a challenge. Jon viewed it an inconvenience.

“That… That’s enough,” Ygritte moaned. “I ache.”

“You’re giving up?” Jon teased.

“Yeah.”

She did not normally give in so easily, Jon mused. “Is there something the matter?”

She smiled sweetly. “Why does your Dad ‘ate me?”

“My Dad doesn’t hate you,” Jon informed for what seemed like the fiftieth billionth time. “He likes you - honestly he does! He just doesn’t like what he do.”

“But he has no issue with Robb screwing other girls?”

“Exactly,” Jon snarled. “Double standards.”

She placed a hand on the side of his moist face, damp with sweat (and well, other liquids also). “Tell me about ya fight with Jon.”

They both got dressed. Jon took his time, watching Ygritte pull herself into her knickers and her jeans, then fasten her bra, comb out her hair and pull on her top. By the time Ygritte was finished and she was combing through her hair with a small comb, Jon was buckling up his belt and searching the tiny lavatory for his shirt. Ygritte tossed it to him; it was closer to her in the corner by the toilet, and he pulled it over his head, not bothering with the effort of tucking it into his newly buckled jeans. They stepped out of the cubicle together, ignoring the looks of the angered students who waited to use one of the only toilets on the train, but also ignored the looks of disgust of the younger years who whispered that people take shits in there too. Jon knew that. Jon ignored that.

Their compartment was still vacant surprisingly, and they slipped back into it. Jon sat in the corner, pulling Ygritte closer to him.

“How was your summer?”

“Don’t change topic, Jon. Why does your Dad ‘ate me?”

“He doesn’t hate you, Ygritte. It’s probably because he was only a little bit older than me when he married Catelyn and had Robb, then had his affair and had me. I think he worries I’ll get you pregnant or something and that I’m irresponsible and that I couldn’t take care of you. I don’t know what it is but I know he doesn’t hate you. He actually enjoys it when you come round for dinner, but it’s Catelyn who doesn’t like you. Don’t take that to offense though; she hates everyone’s girlfriends and boyfriends: Gendry, Joffrey - she liked Jeyne well enough but then again, who doesn’t like Jeyne?”

Ygritte considered his words. “I don’t want Catelyn to like me but ya Dad’s pretty important.”

“Dad’s not important.”

“You know nothing Jon Snow. Your Dad’s the Deputy Minister of Magic.”

“I only ever see him as my Dad.”

“Some of us are gonna have to work in our lives, Jon Snow and if the Deputy Minister of Magic don’t like me then I’m screwed.”

Why did everybody suddenly care about working? It angered Jon that even impulsive and indecisive Ygritte was considering a future regardless of if it was with him or not.

“I can work hard enough for both of us.”

“I love you Jon, but sometimes you chat some crazy ass shit.”

Jon merely smiled, pushing back his girlfriend’s hair. “I love you too.”

Compared to usual train journeys to Hogwarts, Jon and Ygritte’s was uneventful. Their espionage in the toilet lasted all of ten minutes and a little while after, Ygritte fell into sleep in Jon’s arms. He supposed it was the best sleep she’d had in a while; Ygritte didn’t have a proper place to call home since she’d refused to take help from Jon’s family, Jon had to leave her to fend for herself, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about her. He worried about her with every second of every day that they were apart until they would be at Hogwarts together again where he knew she would be safe, with a certain meal and a bed to sleep in and a place to call home.

After the year, he’d buy them a place to live and he’d make sure that he’d earned the money; Ygritte would never agree to live with him if the money Jon used to buy themselves a flat was given to him by his Dad. Perhaps he could afford a tiny, one room flat in London, or perhaps a one-bedroom flat outside London if he was comfortable with living away from his family. He’d find himself a job and Ygritte would get one too. As long as they had enough money for rent and bills and food, Jon would be perfectly happen. If they were to have a child in a few years and get married then his life would be complete. Jon knew one aspect of his life was definite: he would live out the rest of his years with Ygritte.

Jon remained awake on the ride to Hogwarts, silent throughout staring out the foggy and rainy countryside they sped through. Ygritte lay with her head in his lap, body extended across the bench, breathing quietly into his stomach. He was quite happy sat there, twisting strands of her hair around his finger as he thought about stuff. Non-important stuff really, like what exit he would use to sneak out of Hogwarts and go to Hogsmeade, what to buy Ygritte for her birthday, what to buy Sam for Christmas, how to make things right with Robb again. He thought of Ygritte most though as is she compelled his mind to only think about her. As if he would think of any other girl but Ygritte; she was everything to him. He’d been compelled by her their first meeting.

_“SLYTHERIN VERSUS GRYFFINDOR!” announced the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor “Okay I want you and Sand, Stark and Greenfield - no Stark, get away from Snow - stop edging towards your brother, I can see you. Snow you can go with uh - Ygritte.”_

_“But sir,” interrupted one Gryffindor girl. “Isn’t this a bad idea? We’ve been in school less than a year-”_

_“-Silence! Ten points from Gryffindor for your ignorance.”_

Needless to say, that Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was fired after a year of teaching them. Now it was taken by Professor Tarth who was a far better Professor than the man who had twenty students firing hexes at each other after seven months of learning.

 _“I’ve always wondered about you,” Jon began. “Why don’t you have a last name?_ ”

It was their first conversation after seven months of attending school together: a brisk spring day where the Professor had opened all the windows but was persperating profoundly through his layers of clothing.

_“What?”_

_“Last name, why don’t you have one?”_

_“‘cause I don’t have a family, no one knows who my family is. Don’t know me Mum and I don’t know me Dad. You can’t ask people questions like that, you know nothing Jon Snow. Why should I have a fake name just to please the likes of you?”_

_Jon held up his hands in mock surrender. “I was only asking… I don’t know my Mum either.”_

_“Shame. Poor little rich boy don’t know his Mummy.”_

_“I’m not like that.”_

_“Prove it by being a man and hex me.”_

_She held her wand up, ready for a duel. Everybody else had been paired up with the same sex. Jon would have felt a lot better hexing a boy rather than a girl. If it was against Robb or Theon he might have even enjoyed. But this was against skinny, second-hand robed Ygritte no-name._

_“I’m not going to hex you.”_

_“Scared you’ll lose to a girl?”_

_“No,” Jon muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”_

_She’d rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a pussy Snow. Do it for ya long-lost Mummy.”_

_Something had triggered inside Jon that made him retort to Ygritte. “Don’t say a word against my Mother.”_

_“Touched a nerve? Come on Mummy’s boy. Show me what ya got.”_

_He’d thrown a hex at her, but she’d narrowly dodged, it, stepping out the way. She shot one back and he shot another. Unlike the other pairs who were laughing as they shot tickling hexes at one another and jelly-legs jinx, Ygritte and Jon were firing as many hexes as possible to one another that would inflict the most amount of pain two eleven-year-olds could come up with. Eventually the Professor hexed them both and sent them out the class._

_Ygritte tugged back on his arm once they reached the corridor. Jon - still fuming from her insult and from the bloody nose she’d given him in the duel - would have slapped her if he did not think Ygritte would’ve hit back harder._

_“I’m sorry for what I said about ya Mum.”_

_He looked her over and with as much venom as he could muster, spat at her, “fuck off.”_

That memory still made him chuckle, as did the gossip of it all afterwards. Some boy had said that when the Professor sent them from the room, Jon and Ygritte boned in the caretaker’s cupboard. Of course they hadn’t, and Jon had blushed red when confronted which only added more fuel to the gossip. When Ygritte was asked timidly by the same boy, she’d threatened to hex _him_ and gave him the same selective words Jon had parted her with. They avoided each other from that day, too embarrassed to speak to one another in case more rumours escalated. Jon had realised that week when he and Ygritte were all the talk that he’d never actually noticed her, nor had he seen her with any friends. He felt bad for her, but he wasn’t the type to do anything about it and that still ashamed him.

When the sky turned dark and the voice from the intercom announced that they would be arriving at Hogwarts in half an hour, Jon had been on the verge of falling asleep. He cursed at the loud voice that shaken him from possible slumber, and physically shook Ygritte awake. She battered at his hand but reluctantly pulled herself from her position on Jon’s lap, yawned, and began to undress into their school robes.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I just joined Slytherin?” Ygritte wondered.

“You spend more time in the common room than most Slytherin’s do.”

“I spend more in your bed though.”

Jon gave her a smile. “Last time I tried getting into your room, your staircase turned into a slide and I almost broke my neck.”

“Serves you right for being a horny fifteen-year-old bastard. You know nothing Jon Snow.”

He pulled at her crimson and golden tie so she was drawn closer to him. He put a hard hand on her slim waist, growling in her ear, “don’t call me a bastard.”

“I’ll call you what I want, Jon Snow. You're mine,” she whispered. “Mine, as I'm yours.”

 

The train pulled up at Hogsmeade station at precisely five o’clock as it so often did. The doors of the train slid open when the train came to a halt, exposing them to the brisk, cool air of September. It was slightly drizzling outside, not too much to soak them through but enough for a gaggle of fourth year girls to screech when they stepped off the train, screeching about their hair. People laughed at them, Ygritte gave one of them a nudge out the door to allow others to get through. Puddles splashed at their feet as they made contact with solid ground and more lights flickered on at the station, sensing human presence.

The two Seventh Years pulled back from the crowd, standing over towards one of the lamps, scanning the crowd for more groups to share a carriage with. Jon saw Robb’s red hair over the tops of the others with Tyrell and Greyjoy, but Jon ducked down to avoid being spotted by him. But it did not work, for Robb saw Jon and Ygritte loitering at the back, pulling his friends towards them.

“Shall we get a carriage then, Jon?” Robb asked.

Hesitantly: “Alright then.”

There was little opportunity for conversation, what with the hustle and bustle on the platform. They found a carriage soon enough; Robb was popular enough to be intimidated by _and_ admired, so after sending four second years to wait for another carriage, Robb, Jon, Ygritte, Tyrell and Greyjoy clambered onto the carriage with the wet seats, the latter two pulling the roof up over them.

An awkward silence passed throughout the carriage.

“Awful things ain’t they?” Ygritte sounded.

“Yes,” Jon agreed.

“What things?” Greyjoy asked.

“The things pulling the carriages.”

“The carriages pull themselves Snow,” Greyjoy laughed. “Stop trying to make us believe you.”

Ygritte opened her mouth to argue with Greyjoy, but Jon stopped her. He didn’t know what the things that pulled the carriage were, or why only he and Ygritte could see them out of the five of them, only that by experience being different was seldom a good thing.

The two extra boys who joined them went by names other than Greyjoy and Tyrell: Theon Greyjoy and Loras Tyrell (or others if you disliked them). Tyrell had grown up with Jon and Robb and Theon since they were all babes, living just around the corner from them in their Tyrell Estate with his brothers and sister and parents. When Jon thought about it, Robb had made very little friends at Hogwarts for he knew all the ones who joined him in Gryffindor from birth: himself, Greyjoy, Tyrell and Cassel while the other one Storm, he rarely interacted with. Tyrell was nice enough, Jon supposed, but rather insufferably arrogant to spend too much time with, but also quick-tempered and rash. Theon Greyjoy was very little like Tyrell; while Tyrell had been sorted into Gryffindor as quickly as the hat fell on his head, Greyjoy was a hat stall. Jon was convinced he’d be in Slytherin like all Greyjoy’s, but was sorted into Gryffindor soon enough. It was unclear why; though Theon was brave he was not exactly noble or chivalrous - the only reason Greyjoy would be in Gryffindor, to Jon’s believe, would be if Theon threatened to burn the hat if he was not sorted there.

“Sorry about earlier Jon-”

“-It’s okay, Robb.”

Robb stammered his argument but was cut over by Greyjoy. “Have you seen Stone this year?”

“There are loads of Stones, Theon.”

“The one in our year in Ravenclaw - Westerling’s best mate. Now she’s grown her hair out she’s pretty fit.”

“Mya Stone,” Robb informed. “She’s grown out her hair?”

“Yeah I always thought she was gay with her hair how it was, but she was snogging Edric earlier on.”

“I hate the word snogging,” said Ygritte.

“Snogging,” he insisted.

She scowled at Theon. “Is she ya next victim now then?”

“I always thought Stone looked like Gendry,” Robb mused lazily, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “Are Gendry and Edric brothers?”

“I hope not if Stone looks like Gendry and Gendry and Edric are brothers.” Tyrell and Robb laughed as well, Ygritte stifled a smile. “Targaryen’s looking hot this year.”

“Targaryen’s always been hot,” Loras said quickly.

“Lucky you she stays round yours most nights. You ever seen her naked?”

“Once I think.”

“You ever seen your sister naked?”

“No.”

“Can _I_?”

Tyrell kicked Greyjoy. “Shut up about my sister.”

“You four gossip more than the girls in me dorm,” Ygritte mused. “Are you sure you ain’t got cunts between yah legs ‘stead of dicks?”

“Why don’t we get out of this carriage and you can see, Ygritte?”

“You’re a dick Greyjoy.”

“I’d still stick it in your sister Loras.”

If anybody knew Loras well enough (as Greyjoy should have done at this point in his life) then he should know not to make jokes about his family - his mother and sister specifically. Tyrell was loyal as the sigil of Gryffindor to his family. He did not take easy to snide remarks.

“Take that back Greyjoy or you won’t be conscious long enough to see the start of this term.”

The Greyjoy boy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Oi. Calm down Tyrell you cunt, I was only messing with you. Sit down before you take someone’s eye out with your wand.”

“Apologise about my sister.”

Greyjoy eyed Tyrell’s wand and judged the threats. Tyrell was as skilled with his sword as Greyjoy was with tricking girls into bed with him - possibly the best in the school. Tyrell was a better friend than he was an enemy.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” muttered Tyrell, storing his wand away back into his school robe pocket. “Next time I catch you talking like that about Margaery and I will curse you. You got that Greyjoy?”

“Look!” Robb interrupted, clutching the shoulder of brown haired Tyrell. “Hogwarts!”

They turned around on their benches to see their school: a glorious gothic castle standing hundreds of feet high with its various turrets, towers and general building. The candles illuminated the castle against the backdrop of a cold charcoal sky and gave the impression that the night was on fire. They had seen the castle thousands of times, but after a separation from the beautiful building for six weeks, and seeing it so magnificently lit up could take the breath out of Jon’s throat. Hogwarts had a homely appeal to it. It was the only place where he was wanted.

They clambered out of the carriage and onto stationary ground, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked up to the castle along the uneven path. Jon took hold of Ygritte’s hand out of fondness and not wishing to be separated from her among the flock of students rushing to get into the warmth of Hogwarts and start with the Welcome Feast some students would starve for to make room for.

“I ain’t eaten all day,” Ygritte announced. “I hope the Sorting ain’t gonna take too long.”

Jon agreed with her; he had eaten nothing since breakfast and he was starving.

With a quick kiss on the cheek and the promise to catch her before the end of the Welcoming Feast, Jon and Ygritte went separate ways: Jon towards the Slytherin table and Ygritte walked with Robb, Tyrell and Greyjoy down the end to the Gryffindor table. They would probably enjoy the Welcoming Feast and the Sorting Ceremony a great amount more than Jon would; they were surrounded by friends. In Slytherin, Jon had few.

“Hello Jon?” Greeted a golden haired girl with a voice sour as poison. “Did you have a nice summer?”

She sounded mocking even when she was being sincere. “Hullo Tyene. Did you?”

“We went to Russia.”

“Why’d you want to go to Russia for?”

“Dad suggested it. We went with Dany.”

“Where’s Dany tonight?”

Tyene Sand scanned the crowd. “I don’t know. Call Frey over; he’s walking in now.” Jon did as Tyene asked him to. “Ah, friends.”

“I didn’t know you were friendly with Frey.”

“I’m not. Actually… Don’t bother now… Dany’s coming in.”

Robert Frey went and sat with a group of fifth years rather than join Jon Snow and Tyene Sand. Daenerys Targaryen: silver haired, purpled eyes and filled with mystery and unfortunate luck, walked over to them with Margaery Tyrell by her side.

“Not Tyrell. Come on Dany don’t be a bitch, don’t bring Tyrell over here,” Tyene whispered to herself and Jon. “Do you like Tyrell?”

“Never spoken to her much.”

“Lucky you.”

Daenerys and Margaery sat opposite Jon and Tyene. While Tyene smiled pleasantly at Daenerys who was somehow related to her. Despite what Tyene had said about Margaery just seconds before she came and sat down with them, Tyene embraced her from across the table and cheerfully asked how her summer had been. Jon didn’t understand girls and this game that they played with one another.

“My brother’s starting this year,” Jon revealed proudly.

It seemed barely yesterday Dad and Catelyn had bought Rickon home from the Hospital and showed them all their new baby brother. Bran and Arya were too young to remember, but Jon, Robb and Sansa still remembered briefly what meeting their new baby brother was like. Jon was certain that Sansa mistook meeting Rickon for the first time with meeting Bran; Sansa was five when Rickon was born.

“My youngest sister Loreza’s starting this year,” Tyene informed with a smile. “We think she’ll be in Slytherin.”

“Rickon will be in Gryffindor like Robb and Arya,” Jon said with a smile.

“Your family were all in Gryffindor, aren’t they?”

Jon nodded. “My Dad, his sister and brothers and his Mum and Dad. It’s only been me, Bran and Sansa who were put somewhere else. I think Sansa probably asked to be in Ravenclaw to stay away from Arya when she started the following year,” he commented with a chuckle. “And Bran well… Bran’s Bran.”

Jon mused on it for a while. It was not only the Starks who had their traditions broken by where their children were sorted. While the Starks had family scatted in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, Jon knew that the Baratheon family who were traditionally Hufflepuff a long time ago, and then Gryffindor, now had a child in Slytherin - the first in many generations - and two in Hufflepuff and one Gryffindor. The Tyrells whom were usually Ravenclaw had Margaery in Slytherin and Loras in Gryffindor. The Lannisters had always been predominantly Slytherin. No Lannister had been sorted elsewhere in history.

The sorting began. Couples of First Year students piled in between the House tables while the older students exchanged whispers about them. Jon scoped Rickon leading them at the front, sauntering to the front with Robb and Arya’s confidence. He smiled proudly in his new robes, keeping his eyes on the prize at the front of the room, stopping before the sorting hat and awaiting his turn.

“Arryn, Robert,” was the first name to be called.

Small little Robert Arryn, skinny, thin hair and yellowish skin hobbled forward to the Sorting Hat, struggling to climb onto the stool. Jon pitied the poor boy, catching Robb’s eye from across the room who hung his head in shame for the little lad. Jon could hear sniggers from Joffrey Baratheon, and as Jon was tempted to curse Joffrey, the hat announced that Robert would be sorted into Hufflepuff, and the little boy went on his way.

As Tyene predicted, her youngest sister Loreza was sorted into Slytherin and after Loreza was sorted, it was Rickon’s turn.

Jon had never seen somebody more confident to be sorted in all his years at Hogwarts. He pushed past his classmates, eventually they formed a space for him to parade through. Rickon swaggered up the steps, a few people in the room chuckled (including Robb). Jon found himself smiling as the small boy sat down on the stool, his hands on his lap as Professor Manderly dropped the hat on his head, and within seconds it decided, Gryffindor. As whenever a student with a notable name such as Stark, Arryn, Tyrell, Lannister, Baratheon were sorted, it caused a celebration on the table. Hufflepuff had already had their turn, and it was Gryffindor who got what they wanted when Rickon Stark was sorted into Gryffindor. Ravenclaw received their turn when Margaery’s cousin Luthor Tyrell was sorted there.

The end of the Sorting Ceremony came with welcoming words from Professor Jon Arryn. “Welcome, First Years, to an exciting seven years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Jon Arryn was old, pushing eighty with thin wisps of silver hair and beard. “And a safe and warm return to all our former students, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin alike. Might I remind you all that the third floor, forest and Hogsmeade is forbidden to all students unless said otherwise. Anybody caught breaking school rules will be punished accordingly. Any queries and common room passwords, please address your Prefects, and other more important matters please address your new Head Girl, Jeyne Westerling from Ravenclaw, and Head Boy Robb Stark from Gryffindor.”

A sudden burst of laughter played on Jon’s tongue. Surely it was a joke Robb had concocted with Uncle Jon; no one would make Robb Head Boy even with a wand pointed at their head with the promise of Avada Kedavra. However, when Jon gazed across the room to his brother, to his astonishment, a new shining golden badge was pinned to his school robes, Greyjoy and Tyrell looking at him in horror. _He would’ve told us. Catelyn would’ve been hysterical about the news._ It was not something Catelyn would’ve kept secret. She would have likely thrown a party in celebration. Mayhaps that was why he kept it a secret, Jon mused, to avoid his Mum from making a scene. Robb would’ve enjoyed the attention though; the gifts and food and alcohol given to him in reward for his good work. As the food appeared, Jon spared a glance to Jeyne Westerling: Head Girl and Robb Stark’s ex. She looked horror stricken. Undoubtedly she thought that being Head Girl was a great achievement and nothing could go wrong this year. She obviously had not thought to check in with Robb. Robb would not let her year run smoothly.

“Did you know Robb was Head Boy?” Margaery Tyrell asked. “Sansa said nothing and she’s a Prefect.”

“I didn’t know,” Jon admitted.

The food appeared before them in an instant and suddenly the hall erupted in a fit of conversation. Jon so wanted to mock Robb for being Head Boy, but hunger rooted Jon to the spot and he found himself carving off slices of beef, vegetables and sausages onto his plate with the rest of the school in the hall.

“I thought Swann would be Head Boy,” Tyene opinionated.

“So did I,” Jon agreed.

“But if you look at his friends…”

Myrcella laughed from across the table, chewing at the broccoli she’d stabbed at the end of her fork with. There was seldom eleven months between Joffrey and Myrcella Baratheon but they could not be anymore of a different person. If you looked at them you would suspect they were twins. If you knew them you would suspect them to be lying if they claimed to be brother and sister.

“Slag off my brother all you want but let him catch you say that and you’re a dead girl walking.”

“Baratheon doesn’t scare me,” Tyene laughed. “I’d poison him before the very idea came into his head.”

“Not if I got there first.”

They chatted for a while as the plates of food were replenished. Every year Jon swore to leave enough room for dessert, but every year passed and he could barely manage three small portions of different desserts. He was exhausted when he rose with the rest of the school and slightly light headed, too tired to keep his promise to Ygritte to catch her before the end of the evening and too sickly to ask Robb why he had kept his newly appointed role within the school a secret. Jon decided he was getting too old for this. He was not as young and fit as he used to be; he could not eat a gourmet fifty course meal without feeling sick. he would see them all in the morning anyway.

Sleep came easy to him that night and for that, Jon was eternally relieved.


End file.
